And then I was 24

Well, today was my birthday. It was pretty sweet. I love my family and friends sooooo much! Last night my friend threw a small party for me, which was swell. Then, today, Scotty and Ashy put a crown on my head and transported me to their house in a chariot with ribbons on the antenna, where we enjoyed a DELICIOUS meal of fajitas made by Scotty. Then we went to cousin's house and partied some more. I am sooo lucky to have you all in my life! I talked to my siblings and friends and was bombarded with facebook love (which, after all, is the only kind that counts right?? (this is me shaking my head)).

All in all, I'm pretty pleased to be 24. I plan on kicking life's butt as a 24 year old. That's right, this is my LIFE-KICKIN, BYU-I graduatin, job-gettin, grad school commencin, world-changin, friend-makin, book writin, money earnin, year BABY!!!

Or, maybe it will be just like my 23rd year, but hey, I gotta plan big ok? :)

Exciting news..

1. Well, this week I FINALLY GOT A JOB IN REXBURG, IDAHO--something, I admit, I never thought possible. Granted, it is going to be the most loathsome job of my life. It is at a call center. I will call people and survey them. Hey, as long as it keeps me fed, I'm thrilled! You can't ask much more of Rexburg, I've learned.

2. I just received word that I was accepted to participate in the National Undergraduate Literature Conference at Weber State University in Ogden, UT! I submitted several poems at the encouragement of my favorite poetry professor, but forgot all about it until I checked my email a couple days ago. I must admit that I had never heard of this conference before, but I am SO excited! It is a three day conference at the first of April, and students from all over the country come and attend workshops and read their original works. So I have to read my poetry during one of the sessions.

And the best part is that BYU-Idaho is paying my way (good thing cause it turns out it costs $130)! So, we're all gonna head down there in a van and party it up. The cool thing is that three famous writers are going to be there. Writers such as Sharon Olds (a mind-blowingly good poet, for those of you who've never heard of her), Terry Gifford, and Russell Banks. I'm just so freaking excited. What a random, unexpected opportunity!

Anyway, I gotta go do some homework, but I just wanted to let you guys know. Things are lookin up for the old Killer Keller.

I am no longer standing...

Well, I am so used to updating this thing, but I forgot to do it this week, because the news isn't exciting this time. I got eliminated! Not gonna lie..there were some disgustingly bad poets still standing man, but they voted ME out. It's cool. It's sort of a popularity contest anyway. So, that's done. It was a fun ride though.

So what else is going on in my life? Not much, really. It is is a beautiful, sunny, Rexburg day that makes me sooo happy. I plan on burying myself in my covers and reading reading reading for the remainder of the evening. What a life I lead. :) I don't think I could be any more of a bookworm, really. And instead of getting better, it's getting worse as I grow up. Speaking of growing up, I am turning 24 in a couple weeks. Wow. This will be a big year for me. I will get a big girl job and start grad school...yikes! I don't know if I have a clue what I'm doing, but I suspect that I don't.

I wrote a poem today about mom. It's a bit sad, but I thought I share it with you guys anyway. :)

Motherless

I have forgotten the way you used to talk,

tenderly and excitedly,

as if you were utterly engrossed in my teenage babbling,

as I lay on your bed and watched you quilt,

with a Turner Classic movie playing in the background.

I can’t recall the feel of your skin,

soft and weathered,

against mine,

as we embraced,

and you whispered secrets in my ear.

I have forgotten the cackle in your laugh,

that always filled in the spaces at parties,

and was greeted with laughter in turn,

by everyone near.

I don’t remember how you spent your days,

while we were at school,

and you were alone in our big, empty house,

because I never asked you.

I have forgotten the way you used to defend us

like we were your dearest and most beautiful possessions,

when anyone ever tried to hurt us.

I don’t remember the way your silver hair

shimmered in the sunlight,

gently brushed and curled by your careful hands,

or the smell of your mauve lipstick on Sundays.

I wish I could remember what you loved so much

about the gospel you taught us,

or the way you prepared copious lessons for ten years

to teach to teenagers who weren’t even awake to hear them.

I have forgotten the way you used to love me,

as no one else could.

I have forgotten what you saw in me

when your eyes lit up as they pierced mine,

and I knew you saw who I really was.

Last Poet Standing Update

Ok so tonight was round three of the poetry competition here at BYU-Idaho, and I guess I should say at this point that I'm beyond shocked!! Because....I made it to round four!!!! They eliminated three people tonight, which means there are only 9 of us left. Needless to say, I'm getting nervous. There are some truly amazing poets left, like mind-blowing, and I actually can't understand why I'm still there man. hahah. This has gone WAY farther than I ever thought it would. Anyway, if I do win the kindle, I'm selling it for some moolah. That would actually be SWEET!!! :) Here is the poem I wrote today about an inanimate object:

Ostia Antica

I’ll never forget your frescoed walls

or broken children,

crumbling under an ancient Italian sun,

as I meandered with gelato swimming on my tongue,

through your gardens and homes.

I had never seen so much brokenness.

It made me sad.

It made me relieved.

Relieved to know that I can be broken too,

but also beautiful.

I crumble.

I rust.

I topple.

Maybe someday, people will travel a long way to look at me

too.

Your empty rooms and shaded corridors

were sacked by pirates,

and burned by your enemies.

You were once the great harbor city of Rome.

Now you are a memory people pay 6.5 euro to look at.

I'm actually embarrassed because this is totally unfinished, and in fact, I was still finishing it when they called me up to the stage first. I was mad I went first. Stay tuned for next week. This is about the only cool thing going on in my life right now, and consequently, the focus of my blog. Oh, and next week's challenge is "the day after Valentine's." Consequently, the next round takes place on the day after Valentine's. If anyone has any brilliant ideas, let me know.

Last Poet Standing

So about a month ago, I submitted a poem to a competition on campus called "Last Poet Standing," for the sheer fact that the winner received a kindle, and also a friend of mine and I wanted to compete against each other. I think 70 people initially started out, and after two elimination rounds, we are down to 12. Tonight was the second elimination round, and shockingly (literally), I made it! So now I have to write a new poem and read it next Tuesday, where three of us (probably me), will be eliminated. I should probably share the poems I've written on here. Huh?

So they give us a new challenge every round and this time the challenge is to write about a day in the life of an inanimate object. If you guys have any ideas, please, I'm all ears. The challenge for today was to write about a historical, mythological, or pop culture figure in an unusual situation. So I wrote about all the artists on my iPod chillin at a cafe. I'll include it just for fun, in case you want to read it:

iPod Café

The room is dim except for the multi-colored

lights hanging from strings above each table.

as I enter and find a seat at the bar.

Buddy Holly and Samuel Beam are talking over coffee—the coolest cats there,

while Paul Simon and the Fleet Foxes discuss politics.

John Lennon and Taylor Swift nod quaintly at each other, but don’t say much.

John is too busy catching up with Pauly and the boys.

Bob Dylan and Bob Marley are cookin up some sweet jams in the back over a bit of cannabis

while The Temptations lounge with Miles Davis, laughing about the good old days.

Mac Wilberg looks slightly uncomfortable talking to Michael Jackson

and Miley Cyrus seems to hate everyone.

I knew I shouldn’t have invited her.

Bon Iver is on the small, spotlit stage,

singing my favorite song: “Re: Stacks,”

and as I cry, Chris Martin puts his arm around me and smiles.

They’re all there,

mingling into my consciousness

sipping cokes and lattes and dreaming about better times.

And just now, I think the world is ok,

as I sit in my iPod café.